


Don't be alarmed if I fall (head over feet)

by GemD



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Kurt Hummel & Santana Lopez Friendship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Unholy Trinity Friendship (Glee), Volleyball AU, Volleyball Dorks in Love, pro volleyball player brittany, pro volleyball player quinn, pro volleyball player santana
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemD/pseuds/GemD
Summary: Volleyball coach Sue Sylvester has decided to build a new team from scratch to represent the US in the inaugural edition of the FIVB Volleyball Women’s Nations League, recruiting players with yet untapped potential from across the country.Santana struggles to adapt to life in the Big Apple and this new team dynamic while simultaneously trying to repress her budding feelings for her new setter.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce
Kudos: 9





	Don't be alarmed if I fall (head over feet)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about this AU for months now and it's finally (slowly haha) coming together so hopefully I'll be able to update it regularly.
> 
> Big thanks to my unofficial beta readers N and Allie for all their encouragement and support, you guys are amazing and I love u <3
> 
> Also, I'll be updating the tags as I go along, and I'll make sure I include any necessary warnings in the notes :)

Light bounced around the gymnasium, reflecting against the freshly lacquered floor. It was much brighter than Santana’s old one; not only were there spotlights in the rafters, but the large windows that spanned opposite sides of the gym allowed the sunlight to stream in, bathing the court in a soft golden glow.

There was such a peaceful atmosphere to it all that Santana hesitated at the door, not wanting to disturb the stillness stretching out in front of her. As much as she loved the commotion of a game, there was something so enchanting about empty gyms that always convinced her to show up much earlier than everyone else; just so she could bask alone in the silence for a while.

Her pause was only momentary, however - the sight of the nets and two overflowing baskets of balls was enough to pull her out of her daze and into the building.

She crossed the court, vaguely aware that her footsteps were much quieter than usual and that she kept holding her breath for no reason. It somehow felt like she was creeping around some place she wasn’t supposed to be in, even though Kurt had made her so paranoid about getting lost that she had quadruple-checked the address before leaving.

Santana slipped out of her sneakers and into her volleyball shoes in a flash, eager to feel the rush of adrenaline she usually got whenever she stepped onto a court.

With thirty minutes to go until their practice was supposed to start, she paced around one of the courts, familiarizing herself with the number of steps it took for her to walk from the end line to the attack line, then up to the net and across the width of the court. None of her previous teammates had ever understood that habit of hers - all courts were technically the same - but she liked doing it anyway, especially since this gym felt so different compared to her previous one. 

Not to mention she hadn’t actually been near a court in just over a month now, what with the move from Lima to New York.

She had half a mind to start warming up on her own - after all, the balls were _right_ there, calling out to her, just begging to be handled. 

_Wanky,_ she snorted, shaking the thought out of her head. 

But she quickly decided against it. The other recruited members were bound to arrive soon, and she wanted to claim her vantage spot at the top of the bleachers before someone else showed up.

Meeting new people was always rocky business for Santana. She constantly entered a mindset of _‘eat or be eaten’_ no matter the context, which more often than not just made a bad first impression on people. Usually, her bluntness paired with a resting bitch face inspired either fear or confrontation in others, and while it did have its downsides, Santana had come to embrace her ‘intimidating bitch’ status at a surprisingly young age and used it mercilessly to her advantage.

*

The brunette was so lost in her thoughts, twirling a stray curl of hair around her finger, that she wouldn’t have noticed her first teammate’s arrival if it hadn’t been for the newcomer’s shadow stretching across the floor as she walked over to the bleachers.

_Pretty,_ was the first thought that entered Santana’s mind when she noticed the young woman approaching her. 

She usually tried not to judge people’s appearances when she met them - at least, not anymore - but there was no denying this girl was beautiful. Her honey-blonde hair was already pulled up into a sleek high pony that highlighted the soft curves and annoyingly perfect bone structure of her face, and the hazel eyes staring back at her were calm and collected, more curious than judgmental. 

Santana’s gaze raked her body, which looked just as flawless as her face - almost like a doll - and dropped to the exposed skin of her legs, stopping when she noticed faint bruises peppering the blonde’s knees. 

_Probably one of those level-headed players who overworks themself so that they’re perfect on court._

The newcomer climbed the bleachers, setting her bag one row below where Santana was perched, and stretched out her hand with an easy smile.

“Hi, I’m Quinn Fabray,” she declared, and Santana almost frowned. Quinn’s voice definitely matched the rest of her appearance - soft and gentle - and didn’t seem like it would be that imposing amongst the hubbub of an actual game. Although, then again, volleyball did have the ability to drag the beast out of a quiet person. Maybe this girl was one of those secret monsters?

Hoping her initial examination of the blonde hadn’t been too obvious, she reached out so they could shake hands, attempting a smile in return. “Santana Lopez.”

The sound of her own voice almost startled her. It came out a lot raspier than she had expected it to, so harsh compared to the gym’s earlier pristine silence, but Quinn didn’t seem affected by it.

Instead, she just sat down to change her shoes, throwing Santana an inquisitive look as she did so.

“So, Santana, what position do you play?”

The brunette knitted her eyebrows. She wasn’t a huge fan of small talk, but volleyball was first and foremost a team sport and she wanted at least one friend on the team before she did or said something to make everyone else hate her. And Quinn seemed pretty nice so far, so she might as well return the kindness while they were still alone.

“Uh, I’m an outside hitter, usually. But my last setter kinda sucked and I’m a leftie so my coach would sometimes make me play as an opposite hitter to make it easier for her.” Santana eyed the various pads stuffed into her new teammate’s bag before quirking an eyebrow up at her. “Judging by all the knee _and_ elbow pads in there, I’m guessing you must be a libero?”

Quinn hummed as she tied her laces. “Good guess. I can also set if needed, but I definitely prefer playing as a libero.”

“You like… being in the back all the time?”

At the sight of Santana’s confused frown, she chuckled, her ponytail swishing gently behind her as she shook her head. “Oh, it’s not that, I’m just a good receiver. Very dependable, if I do say so myself. And it’s really satisfying to save the balls people assume are unstoppable - some spikers can get so cocky.”

Her last comment was accompanied by a wink, and Santana just rolled her eyes playfully in return. She was tempted to argue that her spikes _were_ , for the most part, unstoppable, but she didn’t need Quinn assuming that she was one of those over-confident hitters. She definitely wasn’t one anymore. She just never understood why anyone would prefer the role of libero - or _any_ other position, actually - over the adrenaline rushes you can only get when you slam a solid spike right through the opponent’s defense. 

To be fair, though, she had always been known to players in her region as a ridiculously aggressive player; she took great pleasure in showing just how hard she could spike even when that power wasn’t necessary. All the coaches she’d had over the years had chastised her for it, mainly because setters had a hard time keeping up with her, but their comments always fell on deaf ears. Santana had found that tuning down the aggression made spiking a lot less fun, so she never bothered listening. 

_At least, not until college happened._

Santana pushed that thought deep down to the back of her mind. Now was definitely not the time to dwell on _that_ incident.

And anyway, if Quinn was as good of a libero as she claimed to be, that just meant more good sets for her.

*

They were sharing their first impressions of Coach Sylvester - both agreeing that she was at least somewhat crazy ( _eccentric,_ Quinn had kindly suggested) - when the next two players arrived.

Santana stared them down while they crossed the court, skipping excitedly and chasing each other like little kids until they realised they were being observed.

“Hi!” the shorter of the pair called out as they reached the bottom of the bleachers. She waved before gasping theatrically, pointing at Quinn. “Oh! We meet again, Quinn Fabray!”

The blonde tilted her head, momentarily confused before she grinned back. “Hold on a sec… Massachusetts? The Dynamic Duo?”

The two newcomers puffed up their chests, high-fiving each other.

“What the fuck,” Santana mumbled, her eyes flicking from one girl to the next. The short girl’s greeting sounded eerily like one of those dumb supervillains she remembered from cartoons - _maybe Dr. Doofenschmirtz?_ \- and she really wasn't sure what to make of that.

Quinn squeezed her knee reassuringly, her smile growing as she watched the pair launch into a ridiculously complex handshake. “We played in the same region - New England. I never played their team but I remember watching one of their games after hearing rumours about this ‘dynamic duo’ thing and they didn’t disappoint; their quick sets are incredible, you’ll see.” 

She paused, before adding in a stage whisper, “I don’t actually remember their names, though,” laughing when they both responded with even more dramatic gasps.

The taller of the two, an athletic-looking blonde with bangs framing her face, hopped up a few steps to shake Quinn and Santana’s hands. “Hey, I’m Brittany S. Pierce,” she offered, a lopsided grin playing across her lips, “and that’s Sugar Motta.” She tipped her head towards her partner, who casually flipped them a peace sign.

“Obviously we know Quinn,” Sugar started as she changed into her volleyball shoes. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

She tilted her head back to stare at Santana, who mirrored the expression. 

“Santana Lopez. I played in the Ohio Valley region.”

At Sugar’s still expectant gaze, she frowned. _What else did she want to know?_

“Um, I’m an outside hitter?”

Brittany perked up immediately, her piercing blue eyes training themselves on her, and a shiver ran up Santana’s spine despite the blonde’s friendly demeanour. “Ooh, a leftie left wing? That’s so cool, I feel like there aren’t many of those. And you won’t have to compete with Sug for the right wing spot too.” 

Santana blinked, taken aback. She didn’t remember mentioning her left-handedness again, but Brittany pointed at her water bottle with a teasing smirk. “You are a leftie, right? Your bottle’s on your left so I just figured… Although that might’ve been a stretch.”

The spiker opened and closed her mouth wordlessly, genuinely confused about how to answer that. At least, until the mental image of goldfish with her face on it flashed in front of her eyes and she just clamped her lips shut, cursing herself internally for the less than intimidating first impression she’d been aiming for. 

She was racking her brains for an answer when another group of girls arrived, dominated by a voice that immediately grated on her nerves before she could even figure out who it was coming from.

“... said that when I was five, I was already the best blocker they had ever seen,” the voice was claiming, from somewhere amongst the group.

Santana wrinkled her nose, and was relieved to see her three companions sporting equally unimpressed expressions. The person talking had officially swung a battering ram right through her already shaky willingness to meet people, shattering it to the point where she could actually feel her resting scowl carving itself into her features.

The new arrivals fanned out as they reached the bottom of the bleachers, some of them smiling shyly and waving up at the small group while others focused on changing their shoes first.

A short brunette from the middle of the pack jumped up the bleachers to approach the group, a confident - bordering on smug - smile plastered on her face as she neared them. 

The second she opened her mouth, Santana desperately wished she hadn’t.

“Hi, I’m Rachel Berry and obviously, I’ll most likely be one of the starting hitters on this team so if you guys ever need any tips on your hitting or blocking, I’d be glad to help. It’s so nice to meet you guys!”

Santana narrowed her eyes in distaste. She was already tempted to avoid the brunette at all costs, thoroughly put out by her attitude, but she swallowed down the snarky retorts that were threatening to burst out of her throat.

_No enemies on the first day,_ she had promised herself, and she was determined to not break that promise before practice even started.

Instead, she introduced herself through gritted teeth and promptly clenched her jaw shut, tuning out the rest of the conversation.

As Rachel scampered back to her bag, Santana leaned forward slightly, her voice hushed.

“If that midget happens to be a better spiker than me -”

Quinn snorted, flicking a perfectly sculpted eyebrow up at her. “Damn Santana, competitive, much?”

At the sight of Santana’s offended expression, she just grinned playfully. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine, but at least try giving her a chance, yeah?”

“Fine,” Santana huffed, crossing her arms. She was vaguely aware that she was already acting like a petty child, and that was never a good look on anyone, so she did her best to silence the grumpy voice inside her brain. “But if she doesn’t fix that attitude, I’m not sure how long I’ll last before I go all Lima Heights on her.”

The libero just sighed and shook her head gently, an amused smile still playing across her lips.

“I don’t even want to know what that means,” she murmured, more to herself than to Santana. “But I can tell you’re gonna be a handful, aren’t you?”

  
  


*

The remaining players trickled in over the next few minutes and Santana gave herself a mental pat on the shoulder for picking a good vantage point, because all she had to do now was aim a perfectly-timed death stare at each of them when they looked her way to ensure that none of them came up to bother her.

Much to her relief, she didn’t see anyone else who might be at a ‘Rachel Berry’ level of obnoxious, but she didn’t want to take any chances just yet.

The only other form of ‘entertainment’ she got came from Sugar, who actually seemed to recognize another girl. She let out an ear-splitting shriek out of nowhere before pulling Brittany down the steps with her to greet the player in question, leaving in her wake a very startled and confused duo.

Santana realised right then and there that she wouldn’t get away with hating loud and bubbly people with every single fiber of her being anymore. There was no way she’d be able to avoid Sugar, considering they would most likely both be in the team’s starting lineup.

Normally, a realization like that one would immediately fill her with despair, but this time, she only found apprehension building up. She wasn’t sure why, but surely it was a good sign, right?

Eventually, Quinn also left Santana’s side to go meet the other newbies, although she did pause to squeeze her knee with a soft smile. “I call dibs on you for my warm-up partner,” she had added, sending a wave of warmth through Santana’s body before she headed down the steps.

  
  


***

“All right ladies, gather ‘round!” 

A voice rang out of a megaphone - _seriously, who still uses megaphones when there are literal_ speakers _around the gym_ \- and their coach appeared from an office Santana hadn’t even noticed, its door camouflaged into the wall.

The woman didn’t seem to have changed at all over the month since Santana had first met her - the grumpy scowl and frown lines etched deep into her face were still present, even the tracksuit was almost identical; and she got straight to business.

They all sat through the usual ‘new team’ logistics; introductions Santana didn’t really pay attention to considering she had already made the acquaintance of the only interesting people so far, and a quick run-over of their practice schedule.

Instead of listening, she took the opportunity to properly assess Brittany and Sugar.

Based on the blonde’s earlier comment about Sugar being a hitter, she was the setter of the pair - a fact that was confirmed a few minutes later during her introduction. She was also one of the taller members of the team, which likely meant she’d be a good blocker. 

_And she’s stunning too,_ her brain supplied, having quickly honed in on Brittany’s curves and visibly toned muscles. But she did her best to ignore that part; she didn’t exactly want to spend her first practice session in a new team just checking out various players.

There was something about Brittany that Santana couldn’t quite read, though. She had caught a glimpse of it earlier when they first made eye contact, and had immediately felt something stirring in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was. Maybe she just hadn’t expected to find such an intensity in Brittany’s gaze - those light blue eyes that first reminded her of a clear sky now made her think of the misguiding crystal clear lakes Finn had told her about years ago, that appeared shallow but were actually hundreds of feet deep. She couldn’t help but wonder what she’d find if she were to explore those depths.

As if she could feel Santana’s gaze on her, Brittany turned her way and offered her a discreet, albeit slightly confused, smile. 

Santana immediately shifted her eyes over to Sugar, her cheeks warm. She could see Brittany’s grin widening knowingly out of the corner of her eyes, but she forced herself to focus on the other half of their ‘dynamic duo.’

According to Quinn, Sugar was surprisingly fast and made up for her less powerful spikes by perfecting her aim. Purely based on her build, it made sense; she wasn’t particularly tall and was definitely more on the slender side, but that usually lent itself better towards speed over power. And while she did come across as a ditzy person, Santana decided she wouldn’t be surprised if Sugar’s personality changed completely in game situations. She could easily picture the younger girl turning into a bird of prey, capable of spotting even the smallest undefended sections of the court and striking before their opponents could react.

Even without seeing the two of them in action, Santana had a feeling their right side would be really effective considering the fact that they had apparently been playing together for a few years now.

*

The brunette was suddenly sucked out of her thoughts when Quinn poked at her thigh and she realized Coach Sylvester had reached the most interesting part of her speech - the Nations League.

“I assume you’re all familiar with the World Grand Prix by now - you all have an idea of how it’s formatted?” 

The girls all nodded. 

“Alright. The Nations League is slightly different, with a five-week-long prelim round in May before the final round in late June. That means we have -” She pointed directly at Brittany. “Pierce, how long do we have till then?”

“Almost eight months, coach,” the blonde replied without hesitation.

“ _Eight_ months,” Sue repeated. “By the time the Nations League rolls around, I expect this team to be a well-oiled machine. Preferably a tank that can steamroll the competition. We’ll be representing this entire country, and we are _not._ Going. To lose. Is that understood?”

The team nodded in unison, some of the younger girls exchanging nervous looks, and with that, they were finally ordered to warm up.

***

Santana fell in step with Quinn as they started jogging, letting out a deep sigh of relief as she felt her body relax, and slipping back into the familiar routine of getting her blood pumping and stretching her muscles.

Getting her hands on an actual volleyball sent a second, bigger wave of refreshment through her limbs. Sure, she had her own ball in the apartment she shared with Kurt, but he was annoyingly strict about making sure she didn’t break any of his precious trinkets and decorations, so it just couldn’t compare to handling one on the court.

The faint smell of new balls and the feel of the leather in her hands was intoxicating, breathing life into her body.

The way she spun the volleyball effortlessly against her palms; the satisfying bounces as she smacked it into the floor a couple of times; the stinging sensations forming in her palm and her forearms where she made contact with the leather; it all felt so fresh yet so _normal,_ as if she hadn’t stopped practicing over the month since she moved. 

And _god,_ she had missed it.

Even the burning sensation in her thighs, back in full force after several weeks without proper practice, was one Santana actually welcomed for the first time in over a year.

All of this pain just served as fuel to her, and she let herself settle into the rhythm of each drill. Each movement still came naturally to her; her legs automatically bent into squats low enough that her fingertips regularly brushed the floor, but she remained light on her toes, ready to launch herself in any direction at the drop of a hat; her spiking form was flawless as usual, especially because Brittany seemed to pick up on even the slightest of movements and adapted when necessary; even her own sets were nice and consistent.

Best of all, the hitting lines allowed her to pause for breath and observe the other players Coach Sylvester had recruited. And while none of them were bad by any means, Santana had quickly come to the conclusion that she was easily their most powerful spiker.

During one of their short water breaks, Quinn sidled up to her, trying to hide a mischievous smirk until she got closer.

“First of all, Santana, you’re on _fire_ right now! You really weren’t kidding when you said you were strong, huh?”

Santana allowed herself a quick smile, her chest puffing up with pride. She hadn’t wanted to advertise it before seeing everyone else play, but she had always known she was a force to reckon with - even when she wasn’t really trying. 

“And secondly,” Quinn continued, her voice now hushed in an effort to contain her glee, “I know I told you earlier to give Rachel a chance before you try punching her - and I still stand by that - but remember what she said when she walked in?”

“Oh, that bullshit about offering us hitting tips? How could I possibly forget that?”

Quinn covered her mouth as if it would hide the fact that she was starting to laugh. It didn’t have much of an effect, because her trembling shoulders fully gave it away, but Santana couldn’t be bothered to point that out. 

“Did you see her spikes?” Quinn finally choked out, her voice shaking.

Santana’s amused expression morphed right into a shit-eating smirk.

She had indeed seen them, but her intense concentration at the time had allowed her to keep her composure. Now, though, with Quinn giggling like a maniac right in front of her, it was hard to resist the urge to join in. For someone with the highest ego either of them had ever seen, Rachel had been completely incapable of following through with the non-stop bragging she’d been doing from the moment she walked in.

“Honestly, I’m shocked they even made it over the net,” Santana whispered back. “She’s a literal midget with about as much power in her entire body as a baby has in its little finger.”

A full-on cackle escaped from Quinn’s mouth before she clamped her lips shut and pressed her hands to them, shaking even harder.

“Can you believe she expects to be a starter here?” Santana’s eyes flicked over to the brunette in question before shaking her head with a scoff. “So delusional.”

Admittedly, Rachel’s spikes weren’t the worst in the world. She had a decent form and could move around the court quick enough to evade blockers, but that was _all_ she had going for her. 

_No power at all, barely any technique._

Watching her try so hard filled Santana with a mixture of satisfaction and dismay that she hadn’t expected to feel regarding a teammate - it was one of those scenes that was so sad it became funny ( _or was it so funny it became almost pitiful to watch?_ Santana wasn’t sure which one it was.)

Her only chance at redemption was her blocking, but even Quinn was starting to lose her optimism regarding _any_ of Rachel’s skills.

***

Santana was still on the fence regarding how she felt about the team as a whole as she climbed the stairs to her apartment. Mini scenes from practice had been plaguing her mind all afternoon, distracting her so much from her commute home that she had gotten lost and spent a ridiculous amount of time wandering around her neighbourhood with her eyes glued to google maps.

On one hand, Quinn really hadn’t done Brittany and Sugar justice when describing their quick sets - not that Santana had the words to describe them either. Sugar’s palm was like a vacuum, sucking the ball from Brittany’s fingertips so rapidly that you’d miss it if you blinked. And Sugar may not have had to worry about aiming her spikes today, but there was no doubt in Santana’s mind that their quicks would never fail to impress her. 

On the other hand, however, she couldn’t get the image of Rachel’s failed spikes out of her head. At best, they could make it over purely thanks to the brunette’s proximity to the net. But she somehow couldn’t get her timing right when working with Brittany; she’d either swing her arm too early or too late, and if she was lucky she’d make contact with the ball just enough that it wouldn’t land on her side of the net. 

It was actually impressive in its own way, because Brittany was a great setter and it was _really_ hard to mess up a spike when her sets were so precise.

Worst of all, volleyball plays weren’t the only aspects of practice stuck in her mind.

In between all the different spikes she’d been thinking about were other images - the kind that made her cheeks heat up and her mouth go dry.

She hadn't exactly _wanted_ to stare at certain teammates as much as she had over the past few hours, and yet she couldn't bring herself to look away from them.

A pair of striking blue eyes that gave her their full attention as she launched into her own spiking approaches; beads of sweat following a jawline or the curve of a neck, or pooling in the dip of a collarbone; even just the sight of girls in spandex was enough to make her feel hot and bothered these days. 

It was almost ridiculous how pent up she’d been feeling recently - how much energy it took her to shake those thoughts out of her head before they could escalate in any way, but she forced them to the back of her mind yet again as she climbed the stairs to her apartment.

“Honey, I’m home,” Santana drawled as she closed the apartment door and kicked her shoes off. 

“Welcome home, sweetie,” Kurt answered automatically, his eyes glued to his laptop.

He was curled up on the couch, typing away aggressively, with photos and stacks of paper strewn around carelessly not just on their coffee table, but also on the floor around his slippers. 

“How come you’re home so early today?”

Her roommate glanced up at her and she felt her lips twitch into a frown at the sight of dark rings under his eyes. He never looked this tired; he was one of those weirdos who was obsessed with staying healthy, getting enough sleep, eating properly - all that boring stuff. And he seemed to genuinely enjoy his job, even if it did keep him unnecessarily busy.

“Couldn’t focus at work,” he mumbled, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. 

Santana eyed him cautiously while she moved around the kitchenette, opening and closing cupboards as she tried to find herself a snack. Her hand hovered over the bowl of fruits Kurt kept meticulously rearranging, but she was too lost in thought to actually pick one up.

Despite her best efforts, she ended up staring at him across the room, trying (and failing) to get a read on him. In some ways, Kurt was an open book that Santana had memorised long ago; after all, she had spent their middle school years preying on his insecurities and could easily tell when he was feeling down. But over time, he had learned to set up his own walls and became secretive as to why he was feeling a certain way. 

Not that Santana blamed him for still being cautious around her - she’d always been closer to his step-brother than him anyway - but they had agreed to be friends soon after his dad and Finn’s mom got married, and she had actively put more effort into mending things ever since. 

When the silence stretched out long enough that Santana decided he wasn’t going to elaborate on his day, she turned to the fridge, pursing her lips when she didn’t find anything interesting in there either. 

Eventually, he just sighed and shut his computer before leaning back to watch her.

“How’s the team?”

Santana groaned as she flopped onto the couch across from him, trying to decide where to start once the memories from earlier that afternoon flooded back to the front of her mind. She raked her fingers through her hair, a confusing mix of feelings bubbling up from her stomach.

“They’re okay, I guess. All somewhat decent players as far as I can tell. I didn’t really talk to most of them, though.”

“Well there’s a shocker,” Kurt mumbled, his lips twitching up into a slight grin when she shot him a dirty look. 

“I don’t really have an opinion about most of them yet, but one of them is kinda really fucking hot…” Santana’s voice trailed off awkwardly as soon as she realised what she was saying and she frowned at the floor, determined to avoid Kurt’s gaze. 

If anything, she was hoping he hadn’t even heard the last part properly, because she didn’t want to deal with an interrogation from him just yet. It would involve a  _ lot _ more thinking about said teammate and honestly, Santana wasn’t quite sure she wanted to focus on that right after meeting the woman.

Instead, she changed the subject before Kurt could process her words, picking the one highlight she knew would grab his interest. 

“Also, I think I made a friend?”

“Wait,  _ what _ ?“

Santana almost flinched at the sudden flip in her roommate’s attitude before letting out an exasperated groan once she caught sight of his wide eyes and Cheshire cat smile.

Just because she had predicted his reaction accurately didn’t mean she was thrilled at the idea that she was giving him an easy way to poke fun at her.

“You,  _ Santana ‘I hate people’ Lopez, _ already have a friend? I’m so proud!”

“You sound way too shocked about it,” she grumbled, aiming a kick at him. He just laughed in response, dodging her foot easily. “Seriously, Hummel, you sound like my mom. I’m never telling you about any of my accomplishments from now on.”

Kurt tried - sort of - to wipe the smile off his face before settling down in an armchair out of her reach.

“Oh, we both know you won’t stick to that,” he retorted cheekily. “Now tell me about this new friend of yours.”

Santana sighed, but her lips automatically quirked up into a soft smile as she recalled the ease with which she and Quinn had hit things off.

“Her name is Quinn. At first, I thought she might be even more of a softie than you are -” Kurt rolled his eyes at her and she ignored him. “- but we get along really well and I feel like we’re on similar wavelengths, y’know?”

He nodded in understanding and Santana’s train of thought drifted immediately back to the libero’s volleyball skills rather than literally anything else about her. To Kurt’s credit, though, he actually seemed genuinely interested enough about Quinn to still pay attention to the conversation despite understanding very little about the sport; although he couldn't refrain from coughing out a  _ ‘typical Santana’ _ under his breath.

Maybe he was just letting her ramble so much because the more she did, the more she reinforced arguments he’d been making for years - that she cared so much more about her teammates’ skills than she did about actually getting along with them, and that she was incapable of carrying a conversation without going on a volleyball-related tangent.

Even so, Santana found that for once, she didn’t really care that she was just proving his point. They had clearly both picked up on the fact that one session back on the court had been able to lift Santana’s spirits in a way nothing else in New York had so far, and it was a welcome change after a month of her moping around and endlessly bugging Kurt. The relief it had provided her with was starting to get her properly motivated - maybe even _excited_ \- for the upcoming season, and she couldn't keep the smile off her face.

  
  
  



End file.
